Arrested
by Chiddie
Summary: HeYa RPF, sort of crack. Naya and Heather are arrested by the FBI.


They were shooting when the men in black came in.

It was a Finchel kiss scene, and normally, Naya would be glad of an interruption. The fucking FBI coming in is far from normal.

Men and women with sunglasses, suits, and guns came trooped in. One, a tall woman with her hair tied tightly back, came through the door holding a badge.

"FBI, we're looking for a Heather Morris and Naya Rivera."

Naya looked to her left, where Heather was sitting.

Fuck. The week they decide to get over themselves and confess their love for each other? Really universe, really?

Heather squeezes her hand and sighs. It would be better if they give themselves up for whatever they did. If what Naya knew about the FBI was true, then they'd probably know who they are anyway.

Actually, they're on a nationwide television show; who wouldn't?

Heather and Naya raise their left and right hands respectively; they hold on to each other using their other one.

The woman does a gesture and two men swoop in and handcuff their hands in front of them, which was sort of hard, because they refused to let go of each other.

"You're under arrest."

"Wait, what did they do?"

Dianna's standing up and the look on her face is half confused, half angry.

"Ma'am, I cannot disclose the information."

Dianna looks like she's about to say something else, but Amber tugs on her arm insistently, and she sits down.

"I'm sure that whatever they did, they didn't mean to do it," Kevin pipes.

If Naya wasn't handcuffed, she'd face palm.

Oh Bee.

Naya turns towards her friends and says, "Don't worry guys, we'll get everything sorted out. We'll be out before our ratings get any lower."

Heather nods, and they follow the woman outside to an armored van.

What the fuck. Okay, now she's pretty sure Telly or Cory or Chord's playing a prank on them.

Naya turns to Heather.

"Heather, tell me, honestly. Did you kill the President?"

"Will you still love me if I said I did?"

"I—oh my god. Yes I do for some reason that must be the power of our love, but why Heather? He was pro-gay!"

Heather kisses her on the cheek.

"You're cute. Also, I did not kill the president."

Naya smiles.

This is a pretty good prank.

Two agents wait for them by the door of the van and gesture for them to get them inside.

She knows it's a prank and all, but she has a bad feeling about getting in the van.

"HeMo, I really don't want to get in."

Heather kisses her again.

"Don't worry babe. I've got this."

She turns to one guy slowly.

"Guys? I think it's enough. You really got us good. All I want to do now's to get this fucking scene over with and cuddle up with my girlfriend."

An eyebrow rises from his oversized sunglasses.

"Ma'am, get in the van. Otherwise we'll have to force you in."

Oh god.

Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod.

"Naya," she hears Heather whisper, "I don't think this is a joke."

Naya gulps.

They get in, and realize that there are no windows. The men close the door, and they're covered in complete darkness.

"Heather, I'm scared."

"Me too. It's okay little mouse. Just hold me."

Somehow, Heather manages to wrap Naya in her cuffed hands. Naya snuggles into her chest. She's scared, but she has Heather, and, for that moment at least, everything will be alright.

The beating of their hearts bring her to sleep.

"Naya, we're here."

Naya finds herself waking up in Heather's arms. And they're slightly covered in drool.

"Ohmygod babe, let me just cle—"

Naya moves to wipe it with her hands, but she realizes that she's handcuffed.

The events of the afternoon hit her in full force.

Oh my god.

"Ma'am, if you do not come out, we have the permission help you. Forcefully."

"Come on Nay," Heather whispers.

They get out of the vehicle and find themselves in a huge room lit up with harsh fluorescent lights. In it are at least forty vans, just like the one they just exited. The agents are on their right, and one's talking to a microphone on his collar. Moments later, a golf cart (why of all things is it a golf cart) stops in front of them and the agents take a girl each and sit on different sides of the cart.

Naya doesn't want to stop touching Heather, but she's more than a bit suspicious that the guys are cyborgs, and she doesn't want to get her pretty face melted off.

They travel in silence through several tunnels. The guy sitting next to her, who she has dubbed Steve, is really, really quiet. She swears he's not breathing.

Steve's tall, taller than Cory, but he's buffer than Chord. It's a pretty intimidating combination. But he's blonde, and she sort of has a soft spot for blondies, so she tries to strike up a conversation. It probably gets boring, being a part-emotionless creature.

"Uh, nice weather we're having today."

"Affirmative. It's partly cloudy with zero percent chance of rain, and the temperature's comfortable at 80°F."

Uh.

"Are you dating anyone? A girl? Or a guy? It's okay. I mean, I _am _a lesbian icon after all."

"My wife died from tetanus."

"Oh. I—I'm sorry I guess."

"She was planning to assassinate me."

"Oh. I'm… not sorry then?"

Naya fiddles with her fingers.

"Why'd you guys use a golf cart?"

"Studies show that criminals shown familiar objects are less prone to attack when arrested."

…okay, she won't bother talking with him again.

"We're here."

They get off, and Naya's hand instantly finds Heather's. The men lead them through a door, and they travel through several more tunnels. They stop in front of a metal door, and Naya's guy punches in numbers on a panel nearby so that it opens. Heather and Naya get in.

"Thanks Steve."

His eyebrow rises. Naya waves after him awkwardly with both her hands as he closes the door.

He's a good guy, that Steve.

Naya takes in the room. It's relatively small, though its ceiling's really high, and the only things there are two wooden chairs and two microphones, the latter standing on a shelf.

"Morris, Rivera, sit. We're about to interrogate you. Speak into the mikes when you answer."

A voice rings through the room, and Naya bets Mark's left pec that it's the tall woman with the circulation-stopping ponytail.

They do as she says and wait for the questions.

She's pretty sure she knows all her answers though; she has no idea what's going on.

"What's the motive behind it?"

Heather answers.

"Motive behind what?"

"Let's bring you up to speed. Since 2009, the two of you have murdered thousands of girls, and left tens of thousands incapable of bearing children. It's only recently that we've been able to link these cases to you."

…what?

"You don't have any evidence."

"Actually, we do. In fact, I am disappointed at our team for not reaching the conclusion sooner."

Naya looks at Heather. She's really fucking scared.

What the hell did they do?

"Would you like to elaborate?"

"We've been receiving reports from countries all over the world of multitudes of deaths, at the same time, reports of an unnaturally high number of teens tested to be infertile. We've sent our best teams to investigate the deaths and checked for the usual suspects: murder, food poisoning, new types of viruses. After that, we tried looking for less common causes of death, but all the tests returned negative. Eventually, we had to let the old cases go, but there were new ones popping up everywhere, with no deciphered causes of death, so we assumed that they were connected.

A few months ago, scientists from California were able to state and support the theory that sexual frustration overrode the body's processes and causes it to shut down. This gave us an idea. We took the bodies of several new cases and exhumed the bodies of several old ones and performed the needed tests. About 94% were confirmed to have died from sexual frustration."

Oh god. Does this mean that they—

Heather's voice is confused.

"Where do we come in?"

"There's only one way for this many people from different parts of the world to be linked: the internet. We sent teams all over to go through the victims' internet histories. Around their times of death, we found that they were browsing through pictures and videos of you two.

Same can be said with those left infertile. Most said that they were, ehem, "trolling" through their "dashes" when they felt a sudden pain near their hips. Apparently, they have a term for this. An ovary explosion."

Oh god.

Oh god.

Wait till Kevin hears about this.

Naya's struck dumb.

They're literally too hot to live.

"Heather. Oh my god."

"I. Know."

They hear a sigh echo through the room. A few moments later, the metal door opens, and the tall woman walks in.

"You never meant for any of this to happen, did you?"

Heather and Naya shake their heads.

"I see. Release."

She speaks the last word into her collar, and suddenly, Naya feels the weight on her arms disappear. Then she hears a thump as a handcuff drops on Heather's foot.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck."

"Babe, you okay?"

"Fuck Naya fuck that fucking hurts fuck."

Naya bends down to take a look at it. It looks pretty swollen.

She pulls Heather in and makes out with her a little. That usually takes her mind off things.

She lifts her head up for air and sees that the woman's looking at them weirdly.

"Uh, do you mind?"

"Are you two girlfriends?"

Naya feels Heather's arm wrap possessively around her. Her voice is husky as she replies.

"Yes. Why?"

Naya's probably going to be a new case.

"Well, we can't arrest you since you've done nothing wrong at all… maybe if you guys get married, it'll calm their hormones enough."

Ma—married?

"What do you say?"

She looks at Heather.

She's beautiful. She's smart. She's kind. She's goofy. She makes her strive to be better. She's her soulmate. She's the love of her life.

What if she doesn't want to marry her though?

"Heather… do you want to marry me?"

Her voice is full of uncertainty. Marriage is a big thing, a _huge _thing, and it's made to be a bond that lasts for the rest of their lives.

She can't even look at her; she's too scared. Why would she want to marry her?

She feels a hand underneath her chin pushing her gently so that she looks at Heather's eyes.

"I wanted to marry you the first thing I saw you."

Heather bops her nose.

"Sometimes you're really stupid, you know?"

Naya scrunches her nose.

"You're just too smart for your own good."

They hear a loud clap and they remember that FBI woman's still in the room.

"That takes care of it. Wait for a minute."

She presses a finger to an earphone in her ear and she starts talking about Prop 8 and California and stupid senators. Naya doesn't really listen because Heather's mouth is really close to her ear.

"So, _fiancée_, what do you propose to doing to celebrate this marvellous occasion?"

"Uh, a party with the cast?"

Naya can't think straight. Heather's warm breath makes her shiver.

"I have a better idea."

Naya gulps.

"What do you think about getting married this Sunday?"

What?

"But we have no idea what to do!"

FBI woman smirks.

"Technically, this is an international problem, so we have the permission to use all resources necessary."

Naya sees a gigantic grin on Heather's face, which she's pretty sure she's mirroring.

"Thank you."

"No problem. I guess we have to bring you back to the set."

The woman exits the room and Heather and Naya follow. Steve's standing outside. Naya lets go of Heather's hand and rushes to hug him.

"We're getting married Steve!"

If Naya didn't know any better, she'd have thought she saw the beginnings of a smile.

"Good job, honey. Make sure she never regrets it."

Naya nods and rushes back to her soon-to-be-wife.

She promises herself she never will.

5


End file.
